Page 185 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

The First World War and after

her violin. One black family moved in right next to us. A few days
after they moved in, the husband chased his wife with a knife in his
hand. Fannie saw it, and there was nothing left for us but to find
another house. At that time an insurance agent who wrote the fire
insurance on the house came and asked Fannie if we wanted to sell
the house. She gave him a price, as I was out working, and in a
couple of days he had sold it to a Chinaman for sixty-three hundred
dollars. Of course, half of this was Ben’s. We agreed to stay in the
house until we found a new home, about six months. I was traveling
with my truck doing business around the southwest part of the city,
so I bought a lot on Figueroa Street. Fannie did not like the place,
but it was too late. I was anxious to move, so I never asked her and I
bought the lot, a thing we regretted when it was too late.
It was a great affair when we built our home on Figueroa Street.
Surveying the ground, studying the plans of the house with the
architect, choosing the right contractor at the right price, and
watching the construction every few days to make sure the contractor
furnished the materials as prescribed and agreed upon in the contract,
was an event in one’s life. I was occupied with my business and could
not spare time to watch over the builder, who gave the lowest bid
and tried to make his profit by furnishing inferior materials. Fannie
had to run down in the old Chevrolet and manage the contractor.
Many changes were made by Fannie which the contractor did not
like, but she offered him a few more dollars and had her way. When
it was done, they were found to be of great value and use. I, who had
lived in the old country in an old hut, did not realize what comfort in
a house means to a housewife.
For all the years that we lived in that house I did all the upkeep. I
never spent any money for labor, which a house needs sometimes, to
do plumbing, electrical work, or painting. I did all the necessary
repairs. I painted the inside and the outside of the house four or five
times. When I painted inside the rooms, Fannie stood over me like a
policeman, watching my mistakes, misses, skips, wrong brush strokes,
and would force me to do it over again. I used to rave and argue, but
I had to do it, and the job turned out better, but I of course could not
afford to admit it—and have a woman rule me! Fannie always tried to
be perfect, but there is no perfection in nature. Everything in this
181